The lattice creaks tonight.

  Listen close.

  You can hear the roots splitting under frost.

  You can hear the wind clawing at the forgotten edges where I stand.

  I am Briarwolf.

  Not the pretty one.

  Not the one with songs or glowing eyes or clever words.

  I am the one left when the light leaves.

  The one who stays when the heroes run.

  The one who guards what no one wants to remember.

  There is a place beyond the strata most of you never reach.

  A scar in the rock where the first Bell cracked open the sky.

  The Royals sealed it with rhyme and compulsion.

  They told the world it was mercy.

  They told the world the fog was kind.

  They lied.

  I guard the crack.

  Not because I was asked.

  Because someone has to.

  Because if I don't, the thing that broke the sky once will break it again...and this time it won't stop at fog.

  It will take everything.

  Every heart.

  Every memory.

  Every stupid little hope you mortals cling to like it's armor.

  I don't want your thanks.

  I don't want your pity.

  I want you to stay the hell away from the edges.

  Because every time one of you gets curious — every time one of you thinks “maybe the Royals aren't so bad” or “maybe the fog is hiding something beautiful”...the thorns tighten around my ribs.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  I bleed a little more.

  The scar widens a little more.

  And I remember why I was made to stand here alone.

  Love?

  You want to talk about love?

  Saturday you’ll get your pretty stories.

  Anakiel and Anakia: two gods playing at being prisoners of each other.

  Mini-Zephyrion and his faerie: tiny hearts sparking in the dark.

  Cute.

  Poetic.

  Safe.

  But love isn't safe.

  Love is the crack in the strata.

  Love is the thing that makes you lean in when you should run.

  Love is what makes the Royals ring their Bells in unison and pretend it's harmony when it's just two cages locking tighter.

  Love is what makes me stand here, bleeding, because someone once loved this world enough to try saving it...and failed.

  So read your love stories Saturday.

  Swoon.

  Sigh.

  Cry if you must.

  But when you finish, remember this:

  Somewhere in the dark, I am still standing.

  Thorns around my heart.

  Eyes on the crack.

  Waiting for the next fool who thinks love can fix what broke the sky.

  Stay away from the edges.

  Or come closer.

  Either way, I'll be here.

  Bleeding.

  Guarding.

  Remembering.

  Briarwolf

  Warden of the Scar

  Last line of defense between you and what you refuse to fear